


Blindsided

by Captain_Loki



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Injured Stiles, M/M, Pre-Slash, Protective Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 17:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Loki/pseuds/Captain_Loki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Stiles got wounded in fight and isn’t able to walk, barely staying conscious. Derek has to carry him around the battlefield while trying to defend them both at the same time.  Despite Stiles’ condition he’s eager to help, but his hand is shaking and it’s hard to aim."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blindsided

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](http://frecklesandflies.tumblr.com/post/36297104627) art by tumblr user [frecklesandflies](http://frecklesandflies.tumblr.com//). The art was inspiring and it was the perfect opportunity to throw in a couple of things I have been wanting to write.

There’s no earthly reason for Stiles to have done it that Derek can fathom, but it doesn’t change the simple truth that Stiles fucking Stilinksi just took a bullet for him. He starts to slump, but Derek is stepping behind him, holding him up, dragging him away to duck behind a large felled tree.

Another bullet whizzes past his ear as they collapse against each other in the dirt.

“Stiles!” Derek grits out, he can feel the involuntary snarl twist his upper lip because, “Why the _fuck_ would you do that?” He asks, anger and fear thick in his rasping voice.

“Wolfsbane,” Stiles replies, “it’s not that bad…it only grazed me,” but the color is draining rapidly from Stiles’ face.

“Yeah,” Derek tells him, unevenly, it’s almost true, anyway. The bullet caught Stiles’ side, but his shirt is already crimson with blood, a large chunk of flesh torn from just above his hip. Derek clasps a hand over the wound and tries to keep pressure.

He can smell over the bitter scent of iron the other pack closing in on one side and the sound of the hunters crunching through the forest on the other.

“C’mon,” Stiles says, trying to crawl away, “we gotta get out of here.” He’s right, Derek knows, they can’t stay here. He can barely feel Isaac now when he tries reaching out for him, and Boyd and Erica are no longer tangible, like ghosts.

No one is coming.

“I’m alright,” Stiles is trying to assure him, but as soon as he stretches his face goes deathly ashen and he vomits, crying out involuntarily from the pain.

“ _Stop_ ,” Derek hisses, and he pulls Stiles to him when something comes crashing through the underbrush several yards away. Derek’s neck jerks as he shifts, before he scoops Stiles up effortlessly; he lets out a soft noise of protest, a whimper of pain as he’s manhandled as carefully as Derek can manage.

“You can’t get us out like this,” Stiles points out, and Derek doesn’t say anything because they both know it’s true, but Derek doesn’t move to drop him. Stiles slides his hand suddenly into the back of Derek’s jeans, he tenses slightly until he feels Stiles’ hand wrapping around the grip of the glock Derek shoved there a few moments earlier.

“I’ve got your six,” Stiles huffs out, and Derek can tell by the beating of his heart, the shallowness of his breath that Stiles isn’t going to be particularly helpful for very long. Derek growls, tightens his grip and decides they’ll have to make a run for it.

He moves, charging as fast as he can while struggling with the cumbersome hold he has on Stiles. Stiles lets out soft noises of protest and discomfort as he’s jostled and bounced in Derek’s arms.

Derek can feel Stiles trying to steady his arm against Derek’s shoulder, the hand that isn’t holding the gun is slippery against his back. The shots Stiles fires out behind them feel erratic and clumsy.

“I can’t,” Stiles is gasping for breath now. “Fuck, this isn’t—I’m sorry,” Stiles’ voice is gritty and soft.

Derek doesn’t have anything to say to his unnecessary apology. He wants to call him an idiot, but Stiles’ blood is soaking through his t-shirt, dripping down Derek’s bare chest and pooling in his navel and seeping beneath the waistband of his jeans.

“I turn, you shoot,” he says instead and Stiles nods against the crook of his neck as he picks his head up. Derek does then, turning towards his 2’o’clock, he can feel Stiles’ hands shake where they both grip the gun, but he manages to hit his target, not a kill shot, not even a huge impairment shot but it slows the wolf down when the bullet tears through its thigh.

The trees start to thin soon, and Derek can smell the edges of the Hale property, the wards are in place and they’ll hold, if they can just make it. Something crashes out of the woods on either side of them, but Derek can’t turn fast enough to avoid it. He skids on the uneven ground and Stiles slips from his grip and they both go down hard.

He can hear Scott and Isaac now as they tear their way across the sloping lawn of the house towards them, but they won’t get there in time. It’s the other Alpha, her eyes glow red in the half light of the nearly full moon, two of her betas flanking them from the left and right.

Derek’s growl is loud and rumbling as it rips through the forest, rolling out in an eerie echo. The first beta crouches low and makes to leap towards Stiles who has rolled away from Derek, lying there clutching at his side, panting and defenseless. Derek cuts it down easily, its blood mixing with Stiles and his own already running thickly over his hands.

“Ha! Take that,” Stiles huffs, and it comes out a strangled high pitched sort of laugh. The Alpha’s roar is less impressive as she moves towards him. Derek leaps in front of Stiles and catches the Alpha around the throat with a clawed hand before throwing her several yards into the trunk of a tree. It cracks beneath her weight.

Derek hoists Stiles back up and rounds on the second, smaller, beta. “My alpha is so much better than _yours_ ,” Stiles yells, gesturing sloppily with the barrel of the glock as he slumps in Derek’s grasp. Derek tenses at the words, slurred deliriously against his neck, Stiles’ breath hot against his skin.

The wolf, for his part, decides maybe this is true, and when Scott and Isaac finally reach them he bounds toward his fallen Alpha, howling to the rest of his pack in warning. They disappear through the trees and Derek lifts a hand to Scott.

“Let them, the hunters will take care of them. Just help me get him back to the house,” he says and he and Scott heave a barely conscious Stiles towards the house.

They manage to get him through the front door, and into the dining room, up onto the table, chairs shoved roughly away. Derek barks orders at Scott who looks stricken at the state of his best friend. Derek doesn’t blame him, but then Deaton is there, a reassuring hand on Derek’s shoulder as he takes over.

There’s a rush of sound that Derek can’t distinguish, his mind focused solely on the rhythm of Stiles’ heart, the thread of his quiet pulse. Derek stands over the head of the table, grips Stiles’ shoulder and stares down at his pale face and clammy skin.

“Derek!” Stiles whimpers out slightly, his eyes opening, confused and alarmed, before Derek presses a dirty hand to Stiles’ cheeks in what he hopes is a gesture of reassurance. Stiles does look placated, his mouth twists up into a sloppy and uncoordinated smile as Stiles reaches out a blood soaked hand to touch his face.

He passes out a moment later, but Deaton reassures him, with a quizzical expression, that Stiles’ is going to be fine. 


End file.
